Cat's Game
by cosette141
Summary: Peter chased Neal for two years before he arrested him. But just because Peter didn't catch him for two years doesn't mean he didn't get close. One night in a museum outside of the city, Peter and Neal nearly find an end to their long-time game of cat and mouse... and their lives. (Past Neal/Peter story) No slash
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone!_

 _This story takes place a few years before Peter arrests Neal, back during the time Peter was chasing him. The time of the chase will be more established in the story._

 _I have had this idea for years now, and think I finally figured out how to write it out._

 _For those of you who are following my other White Collar story, As the Smoke Clears, I haven't forgotten about it! Inspiration for it just seems to come a lot slower for me. But I am definitely working on the next update :)_

 _I hope you guys enjoy~_

 _~cosette141_

* * *

 _A tie in Tic-Tac-Toe is called a cat's game._

 _Tic-Tac-Toe ties are called cat's games because no matter how hard a cat tries to win against its own tail, it never does. Tic-Tac-Toe itself is a cat-and-mouse game. A game of skill, where the cat goes one way and the mouse another. It is a chase between one player and another, one that can go in any direction, just like a cat and a mouse. Where either the mouse is caught or gets away._

 _But when the cat and the mouse are both out of directions, and find themselves at a stalemate, it becomes a tie._

 _It becomes a cat's game._

 _And the chase either continues…_

 _Or it ends for them both._

* * *

It was supposed to be an easy con.

And it was a fairly good plan. Or, well, it should have been.

It was a museum a few miles out of the city. There were only a few guards at night and Neal had already memorized their patrol patterns. He had a solid ten minutes alone with the jewel he came here for. In, out, perfect.

And maybe the simple _perfection_ should have tipped him off that something would go wrong.

But it had been too long since the last one. He _needed_ a con. Needed it like air to breathe or water to drink.

So maybe that's why he wasn't as careful as he should have been. Maybe that's why he just had a really, _really_ bad stroke of luck.

Because not a minute and a half of his window of time in the room with the jewel had gone by when footsteps echoed in the large room.

Neal froze. He halted his movement, shut his eyes, muscles tensing. Without even having to turn, he said, "Agent Burke."

The man behind him seemed to find a way to sneak a smirk into the very sound of his voice as he said, "Neal Caffrey."

Neal turned around slowly, not surprised to see that Agent Burke had a gun aimed at him. Pursing his lips slightly, Neal slowly raised his hands, feeling forced confidence somehow find a way into his words. "You look good," he said casually, taking in Burke's suit and tie. Neal cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have gone with that tie, though." He grinned in amusement as Burke's eyes narrowed slightly and tried to ignore his own nervousness. "Didn't you get the one I sent you?"

Burke pursed his lips into a face that Neal recognized almost every time he caught sight of the agent. It was something close to annoyance. "You mean the Tom and Jerry tie?" asked Burke in monotone.

Neal smiled wider, and shuffled a small step backward. "I think you know which one of us is Tom."

Burke shook his head, adjusting his grip on the gun. "Game ends tonight, Caffrey." He nodded in the direction of the encased jewel. "You here for that?"

Neal shrugged, taking another step backward, cursing himself for not getting out of here quicker.

"Don't move," said Burke, taking a step closer to Neal. They were standing a good ten feet apart, but that was still far too close for Neal's comfort. Burke's footsteps echoed imposingly in the silence. Neal felt himself move backward, despite the agent's warning, shifting his weight seamlessly from one foot to another, toward the hallway to his left. His eyes flicked over Burke's shoulder, almost as if he spotted something behind the agent. "Did you bring backup?"

"Hands on your head, Caffrey," repeated Burke slower, watching as Neal kept his eyes glued to whatever the conman seemingly saw behind him. _Hmm,_ thought Neal with surprise. _He doesn't have backup._

"You're sure?" asked Neal, allowing nervousness to creep into his voice as he stared at the nothingness behind the agent, acting as if he was hoping to fool him.

Burke couldn't resist. He turned to look over his shoulder. An empty room stared back at him and he turned back around.

But Neal was already gone.

* * *

Neal ran.

His feet hit the tile floor rhythmically and his heart beat furiously in his chest. Neal snuck a look behind him, feeling the confidence he'd forced earlier dissipate instantly. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the agent behind him, shouting his name and to "freeze" or whatever. Neal clung to the shadows against the wall of the museum, softening his footsteps but didn't dare slow his pace.

Peter Burke.

Neal hadn't seen Peter Burke since the day he met the agent outside of that bank over a year ago. Sure, Neal had seen the agent from afar, as he watched the FBI run around on searches for him like chickens with their heads cut off. He'd sent the man postcards, souvenirs, even called him to chat just for his own amusement. But this was the second time he'd ever been truly face-to-face with the man. He looked a bit older than the last time Neal had seen him, and maybe a little more put-together, even. And aside from the whole government-agent-who's-hunting-him thing, Neal liked Peter Burke. They, in some weird way, understood how the other functioned. Neal could almost always predict what Peter's next moves were and-though he hated to admit it-Peter was pretty good at predicting Neal's moves, too. More than anything, Agent Burke had been the closest to catching Neal than anyone, and Neal appreciated that. He knew for a fact that someone had to be _incredibly_ talented to come as close as Peter has. Peter made this chase challenging and Neal had to admit…

He liked the game.

Neal took another sharp turn down a shadowed hallway, nearly tripping over himself. He caught himself roughly on the wall and shoved himself forward. Heart tripling in speed, Neal heard Peter shout his name again. He was catching up. Yes, Neal liked this cat-and-mouse game with Peter.

But that was because he had been _winning_.

Neal heard the agent's footsteps coming faster and Neal picked up his pace. Images of rusting jail cell bars and orange jumpsuits suddenly flitted through Neal's mind but he shoved them away. _Relax,_ he told himself firmly, _this isn't the first time you've been chased by a cop._

But… it _was_ the first time he'd been chased by Peter Burke.

Thinking quickly, Neal grabbed the nearest doorknob, and swung open the door, silently grateful that it wasn't locked. He breathed out a sigh of relief as it shut soundlessly behind him. He continued to run, thinking about how much Mozzie was going to lecture him when he got out of this, when he heard a voice speak behind him and the distinct cock of a weapon.

And it wasn't Peter Burke.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi guys!_

 _Thank you so much for the follows and favorites and reviews! They mean a lot, so thank you :D_

 _Here's Chapter 2!_

 _~cosette141_

* * *

 _Neal Caffrey._

Peter kicked himself, staring at the empty space where Neal had been standing seconds before. He took off after the conman, running down the hallway the younger man disappeared down.

Peter hadn't seen Neal Caffrey in ages. He'd only seen what the conman had left behind. Peter had to admit; Caffrey was intelligent. Of course, he would never tell the younger man that, but Peter had to face the facts. Up until now, Peter had had a lingering feeling that maybe Caffrey was simply…

 _Better_ than him.

Peter shook that out of his head as he turned down another hallway, trying to figure out which way the conman went. "Caffrey!" shouted Peter, feeling the physical exertion sap his energy-he hadn't physically chased anyone in what felt like years. "Freeze, Caffrey!"

He knew Caffrey wouldn't listen; Peter had learned that much about the kid. He was a terrible listener. Aside from that, he disregarded just about every rule and law he ran into. Peter had no idea how Caffrey had such a lack of conscience. Or any criminal, for that matter. All his life, Peter couldn't ever break a rule. Not in school, not on the force, not even the house rules Elizabeth gave him. He would _love_ to put his feet up on the coffee table in the living room. But he couldn't.

Because that was against the _rules_.

Peter ran down another hallway, wondering how Caffrey managed to slip past him so easily. He shook his head to himself; maybe that's why Peter had been so focused on Caffrey's capture over any other criminal all this time. He saw potential in the kid, and he thought that maybe if Caffrey spent some time in a jail cell, he'd learn to use his talent for good instead of evil.

Peter dismissed the idea with a shake of his head to himself.

But here he was, following a hunch, devoid of any backup, and he'd finally caught Caffrey. And following a hunch that he didn't even _think_ would lead to Caffrey! He just read about the museum's renovations and the priceless jewel in for only the weekend and assumed some criminal might want their hands on it. To find _Caffrey_ here, of all people? Well, he _had_ been chasing the kid for quite some time. They must be on the same mental wavelength or whatever by now.

After all this time, he's finally come face-to-face with the criminal who's been three steps ahead of him for over a year. And now they were in the same _building_.

"Caffrey!" shouted Peter, knowing he wasn't going to get a response, but was hoping he would. If Caffrey stopped running, then Peter could arrest him and leave out the whole _evaded police capture_ part of this. He'd save him at least a few months' time on his sentence.

Briefly he wondered what he was going to do without Caffrey on his radar. So much free time...

Peter shook his head. He needed this to be over. Caffrey was a criminal, and criminals had to go to jail.

"Come on, Caffrey," he whispered to the empty hallway.

It was time for the game to end.

* * *

"Hey!"

Neal whipped around just as soon as he was shoved against a wall. He hit it hard and nearly stumbled to the ground. He rubbed his bruised shoulder and looked up, finding himself staring into the barrel of a gun. He forced a smile into his expression and swallowed hard. "Evening, sir."

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. Muscles rippled across his shoulders and torso, seeming to tighten even as he spoke.

"Funny," said Neal slowly, "I was just going to ask _you_ that."

"Where is it?" demanded the man.

Neal stared at him, trying to ignore the fear crawling through his veins.

He _really_ didn't like guns.

"Where is _what_?" asked Neal, pressing his back into the wall, trying to get as far from the weapon as possible.

The man's grip on the gun tightened, white knuckles growing whiter. "The jewel, damn it! Where is it?"

Neal's eyebrows shot up, and he looked directly to his left. "You mean _that_ jewel?" he asked, pointing to his left. The man turned and Neal ducked under the gun and ran. _Jeez_ people were gullible tonight.

"Hey!" the man growled, and fired after Neal, the bullets whispering through the silencer. Neal reached the door just as a white-hot pain sliced his left forearm and he gritted his teeth, muffling his grunt of pain. He ripped the door open and slammed it behind him and tore down the hallway. He risked a look down, seeing blood stream down his arm. He grasped it, wincing in pain.

 _Find a way out…_ Neal muttered in his head, trying to remember where the nearest exit was.

"Stop!"

Neal whipped around, reacting far too slowly. He was suddenly tackled to the ground. Neal's arm burned as he landed on it. He barely held in a cry of pain, scrambling to push himself off the ground, but someone was pinning him to the floor.

"I _told_ you," panted Peter, his hand on Neal's chest, pressing him forcefully into the ground, "not to _move_ , Caffrey."

Neal cringed as his arm stung sharply and he struggled against Peter's hold on him. "No-" gasped Neal, out of breath. He searched the hallway frantically, looking for any sight of the other thief. "Burke, you don't understand-"

"I _understand_ ," said Peter, clearly pleased with himself, "that you are much more of a sore loser than I would have thought." Peter pulled out handcuffs from his back pocket. "You have the right to remain silent-"

"Burke!" stressed Neal, eyes glued to the empty hallway, expecting a door to burst open any second. That man hadn't been that far behind…

"-everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," continued Peter, cuffing one of Neal's wrists.

"There's another thief here!" exclaimed Neal, still trying to push the agent off of him. "He has a _gun_ -"

Peter laughed bitterly. "I'm not falling for that again, Caffrey."

"I'm not lying!"

"Says the infamous _liar_."

"I'm not-"

Something whizzed past Peter's shoulder, startling both men. Peter and Neal whipped around to see the thief sprinting down the hallway, gun held high.

"Holy…" breathed Peter. "You weren't kidding!" Peter grabbed Neal's-fortunately _uninjured_ -arm and yanked him off the ground. Peter raised his own gun, stepping in front of Neal, but the weapon was instantly shot out of Peter's hand.

"Run!" hissed Peter, and he and Neal turned and ran. The hallway ahead split left and right. Peter started to head left. _Well,_ thought Neal, escape plan forming, _right it is._ Neal started to turn right when he was yanked painfully to the left, almost knocked him backward, jaw dropping in realization. "You cuffed me to _you_?!"

Peter yanked his wrist forward, making Neal follow reluctantly, his wrist and injured arm burning in agonized protest.

"You didn't think I knew you were going to run the first chance you had?" asked Peter through panting breaths. Neal risked a look behind-the man was gaining on them, maybe fifty yards away. "Who the hell is that guy?" demanded Peter. "Do you know him?"

"Of course not!" said Neal as they turned another corner. They drifted slightly apart and Neal stumbled as Peter jerked him again, his injured arm screaming at the mistreatment. "You know I don't like guns!"

"I _meant_ ," said Peter through his teeth, "is he an enemy of yours?"

"No," said Neal, out of breath as they both turned another corner, straight into a dead end. "I've never met him before. He's here to steal-"

"Steal what?" asked Peter, stopping abruptly, making Neal stumble again.

"Uh," stammered Neal. "Nothing. I have no idea what's even valuable in this place-"

"What. Is. It."

Neal shrugged. "The jewel."

"You mean exactly what _you_ intended to steal?" asked Peter, but before Neal could reply, the man came barreling around the corner. Bullets flew, and Peter yanked Neal down to the ground to take cover behind one of the displays. Neal covered his head with his free arm, biting his tongue at the pain radiating from his other. The bullet had skimmed his arm, he realized, looking down at it. It was only a cut, but it wasn't shallow.

Peter twisted around, shouting, "Freeze! Put your weapon down! Federal-" Peter whipped back behind the display as three more bullets imbedded themselves into the wood.

"Hey!" hissed Neal, eyes catching the door in the wall behind them. "There's an exit!"

"All exits are locked," growled Peter, sneaking another look around the display.

"Not a problem," said Neal casually, reaching into his pocket.

" _Caffrey_ ," groaned Peter, as if ready to reprimand him for bad behavior.

"Do you _want_ him to kill us?"

Peter huffed, but let Neal lead him away from the display, both ducking as another bullet struck the display. Neal grabbed his lock picks from his pocket and reached his other hand toward the door but stopped short.

"Uncuff me!" said Neal quickly, risking a glance back as they heard pounding footsteps behind them.

"Caffrey-"

"Fine," spat Neal, twisting the picks in his hand. Within seconds the cuffs released his wrist and he went to work on the door lock.

" _Caffrey_ -!" growled Peter, glaring at his own empty handcuffs.

"Hey, I asked nicely," muttered Neal, getting his picks into place and aligning the pins in the lock. He heard them click faintly and grabbed the handle and ripped the door open as bullets struck the door frame right where his head had been. Neal felt Peter push him through the doorway and slam the door shut.

Cool New York air rushed up to meet them as Peter and Neal ran, feet slamming against the pavement. Neal immediately started running to the right but Peter grabbed his arm and yanked him back to his side, accidentally crushing Neal's bullet wound. Neal cried out, nearly tripping over himself and Peter whipped his head toward the conman, eyes wide at Neal's bloodstained shirt.

"He shot you?" asked Peter, glancing backward again, and then pushing Neal forward anyway.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Neal quickly, arm burning furiously. He tried to yank it out of Peter's grip. "Come on, Burke, just let me go-"

"Not a chance," said Peter, slapping the handcuff back around Neal's wrist. Though he did avoid grabbing his arm near the wound.

"Okay," panted Neal as they ran into the shadowed parking lot. Peter jerked Neal again. They were headed to Peter's squad car. Neal's heart picked up. "Uh-" stammered Neal, trying to think of an escape. "Alright, Burke, you caught me. I'll give you brownie points for this and send you a postcard once you drop me-"

"Prisons don't have postcards, Caffrey," said Peter, as he continued to drag Neal to the toward the waiting car. Peter quickly uncuffed his own wrist and slapped it onto Neal's other wrist, then jabbed a finger at Neal's chest. "Don't pick these."

"Oh," said Neal sarcastically, uncuffing them flawlessly and tossing them back to Peter. "Whoops." He turned to run but Peter grabbed the back of his shirt. Neal grimaced as the jacket pulled on his arm.

Peter noticed. "Are you alright?" he asked gruffly.

"Not really," said Neal, still struggling as Burke dragged him along. "Not when I'm tethered to a _cop_." Neal snuck a look behind them. "Come on, Peter," said Neal, looking at the agent with his best puppy dog eyes. "I thought we were friends."

Peter barked a laugh. "Yeah, right. And it's _Agent Burke_ to you."

Neal pressed a hand over his still-bleeding arm. "Look, Peter," said Neal, cringing as he tried to stem the flow. "Can I call you Peter?"

Peter glared at him. "No."

"You see, Peter," continued Neal, wondering how the older man's grip was _that strong_. "I really don't want to go to prison. Now, I haven't ever killed anyone, right? Never blew anything up-well…" Neal hesitated at Peter's incredulous expression. "I'm not a bad guy, okay?"

"What did you blow up?!"

"Let's just write this off as a warning," continued Neal, ignoring the agent, "and I promise it won't happen again."

Peter laughed. "Not. A. Chance."

Neal jerked in the grip again, but Burke held tight. Neal's heart slammed against his chest. He couldn't go to jail. He couldn't leave Mozzie all alone. He couldn't serve years trapped in a tiny, metal box…

"Peter-" Neal tried again, desperation creeping into his tone.

"No, Caffrey!" exclaimed Peter. "You had your chance! In fact, you've had dozens of them! You sent my team on wild goose chases, dead ends, you've been taunting the FBI-"

Neal shrugged. "I've only really been taunting _you-_ "

"-and you've had plenty of chances to turn yourself in-" Peter cut himself off as he something whizzed over his shoulder and they both jerked.

It was a _bullet_.

"Damn," Peter hissed, then jerked Neal again, harder, finally making it to the car.

Peter ripped open the passenger door. "Get in!"

Neal gave him a look that would have been just as appropriate as if Peter just told him to pay for something.

Peter let out an exasperated sigh. "Get _in_ , Caffrey!"

"I'm not going to prison!" stated Neal firmly, but both of them ducked as the backseat window of the car shattered. Broken shards of glass rained down on them as they both ducked for cover.

 _Well, no better time to say goodbye,_ thought Neal. He got up to run but a hand closed down over his bad arm and he was yanked back to the ground, and he let out a pained cry. A second later another bullet soared an inch above where his head had been.

"Do you _want_ to get shot?" demanded Peter, then glanced down at the blood seeping from Neal's arm. "...Again?"

Neal jerked against the grip but it he groaned; Peter was holding him right over the wound. The pain sprang tears to his eyes. "Let me _go_ , Burke!" he demanded. "I'm not going to prison!"

"Well, pick one, then! It's either prison or a bullet!" shouted Peter.

Neal narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Don't tell me you have to _decide_!"

Burke _did_ have a point… a bullet was a little less appealing than prison. And besides, he could find another escape after they lost Shooty McShooterson.

"Fine." Neal let out a huff of a breath, shocking himself as he rose and dove into the car.

He pulled the door closed just as a bullet imbedded in the door.

The driver's door opened just as quickly and Peter threw himself in, jamming the key into the ignition. The car roared to life and tires squealed as he stomped on the gas pedal.

"Why the hell is he following _us_?" asked Peter, almost to himself as he sped through the wide parking lot, the dark forest a pitch black canvas beside them. "I thought you said he wanted the jewel!"

Neal looked at him from where he was trying to stem the bleeding in his arm and his heart stuttered against his chest. He swallowed. Hard. "Uh-no idea…"

"Why didn't he just go for the jewel and then escape?" wondered Peter aloud, face screwed up in confusion. "He could have just taken it…"

"Yeah." Neal bit his lip. "Weird."

Peter turned toward the conman, splitting his gaze between the windshield and Neal, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What? What did you do?"

"Me?" asked Neal, eyebrows shooting up in innocence. "Nothing."

"Caffrey!"

"Okay, okay," said Neal quickly. " _Maybe_ the jewel in the case at the museum isn't quite… _authentic._ "

Peter gritted his teeth. "You didn't."

"Uh," hesitated Neal, feeling all too aware of the slight pressure of the jewel in his pocket. "I might have… accidentally… replaced it with a… forgery-"

"You have the jewel?!" exclaimed Peter, gaping at Neal.

"Well, yeah!" defended Neal. "You stopped me on my way _out_ of the museum!"

Peter slammed a hand angrily on the wheel. "Damn it, Caffrey!"

"Well," said Neal quickly, suddenly feeling like he was being told off by a parent for getting bad marks on a test. "Doesn't it make you feel better that _I_ have it instead of our trigger-happy friend back there?"

"No, it doesn't!" exclaimed Peter, exasperated. "I would feel better if it was back inside the _museum_ , you were back wherever you came from and I was at home watching the game!"

"See!" said Neal with a charming grin. "I knew you didn't want to arrest me."

"Caffrey!" growled Peter angrily. But suddenly a bright light burst from behind them and they both jerked around.

Headlights.

The thief was chasing them. _Still_.

Fear seized Neal's chest. The thief was gaining on them. Fast. Almost as if he was planning to...

"Burke," he began fearfully.

"I know." Peter floored it and the car sped faster. But the light was coming closer and before Neal could prepare himself, the vehicle struck the back of Peter's car, sending it spinning off the tarmac and into the edge of the forest, where the edge of the land dropped away into a steep hill.

Then there was falling.

And then there was nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

_Suuuuuuuuper sorry 'bout the wait guys... but I'm here now! *nervous grin*_

 _I've finally gotten over the writers block and I have a pretty good idea on where the story is headed now. I won't promise regular updates, but I *can* promise you won't have to wait a year for an update again. My bad..._

 _Thanks to everyone who's still reading and especially to all of those who left reviews, you are responsible for motivating me to keep working on this story and get it written. Thank you. ;)_

 _Happy reading, and I'll post an update as soon as I can :)_

 _~cosette141_

* * *

Pain woke Peter.

A steady headache made its way behind his eyes. Something was pressing painfully against his neck, and realized that must have been what woke him.

His seatbelt.

Memories came quickly after that and Peter jerked his head up. His car was dark and quiet except for an echoing ticking of the engine. He grimaced as he lifted his pounding head. He'd been lying on his airbag. His face and chest felt like one hell of a bruise but nothing felt broken and that was a relief all on its own.

Looking over the shattered glass, he could see through the beams of his headlights that they were somewhere in the woodland at the base of the hill from the museum. In the faint yellow light, smoke trickled into the air from the engine. Peter cursed at his luck but quickly turned off the lights. Who knew where the thief was. The headlights were like a beacon and that was something he didn't need.

 _Speaking of thieves_ …

Remembering Caffrey, Peter jerked his head to the passenger seat, afraid that the young conman slipped away while he was unconscious. But surprisingly enough, Caffrey was still there.

But Peter's chest tightened a bit at the state of him.

He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, and was lying against the door. He must have been thrown in the impact. Feeling his age, Peter cursed the kid in his head for not wearing the belt. Shattered glass gleamed in Caffrey's hair, reflecting the light of the moon. He was out cold. Out cold, or...

Quickly, Peter pressed two fingers to Caffrey's neck, breathing out in relief when a pulse beat back at him. "You're lucky, Caffrey." he muttered, pulling back his fingers. Peter then went to shake him awake, but hesitated. He threw a look back toward the museum, then scrabbled for his phone inside his jacket pocket. Luckily it had one bar, clinging for life.

Dialing a number on speed dial, Peter waited until… " _Agent Burke, thought it was your night off_ —"

Peter hastily cut off Hughes. "I followed a hunch."

A sigh. " _What kind of a team do I need where_?"

"The Chandler Museum," said Peter. "I heard some chatter about an event and figured someone would go after the Queen's Jewel, and I was right." He looked back in the direction of the museum. "I have no car, no weapons and no backup."

" _How many thieves_?" asked Hughes.

Peter's eyes drifted toward Caffrey and he opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, his phone beeped loudly in his ear and the call dropped dead. He pulled it back to see he lost service.

Great.

Well, at least he got his message across. They'd have a team here within a few hours.

Peter listened to the silence and the hollow, offbeat ticking of the cooling engine. The car was useless at this point. He'd just have to wait until backup arrived.

 _And hope that the other thief didn't find them first_.

Feeling more urgency at that thought, Peter sat up. He unbuckled his own seatbelt, hissing a bit as he found another set of bruises on his chest from the belt. He was going to hurt for weeks to come.

Peter looked at the conman in the seat beside him. He was still out. But something caught the moonlight and glinted the light. Peter leaned closer.

The gleam of an ocean blue jewel from Caffrey's pocket.

Peter smiled.

Carefully—so as not to wake Caffrey, for dealing with the kid _awake_ would be much harder—Peter took the jewel and stared at it for a second. A million dollars for this?

He shook his head. He'd never understand.

Pocketing the jewel in his own pocket, Peter assessed the situation again.

 _How was he supposed to get the conman out_?

The car had hit the thick trunk of a tree on the passenger door, blocking Caffrey's way out. Peter sighed; he'd have to get Caffrey out through his door.

Peter opened his door and grabbed Caffrey under his arms, and dragged him as carefully as he could out of the car. Half-worried that the younger man had injuries he couldn't see, Peter leaned him carefully against the car. He didn't move, but Peter could see his chest move in the moonlight.

He glared at the broken car and the forest beyond for a moment.

The one time he finally catches Neal Caffrey, and he has no way of actually getting him to prison.

Well, he wasn't going to let him slip away. The resolute promise settled deep in Peter's chest. Neal Caffrey needed to go to prison and that's where he was going.

And Peter Burke was going to be the one to take him.

Feeling, again, the urge to get as far away from the car as possible, Peter stood. The thief knew where his car went over; it wouldn't be long before he followed the trail and found them. At this point, Peter needed to find service somewhere to be ready for the call that the cavalry was here, or better yet, find a way out of the forest and wait out the cavalry somewhere public and safe. The forest was vast; it would be incredibly hard for Hughes' team to pinpoint him without help, especially in the dark.

Peter pulled out his handcuffs and cuffed Caffrey's left wrist to his own right wrist. With a little finagling, he was able to pull Caffrey's limp, uninjured arm around his shoulder and used his own left arm to grip him tightly around Caffrey's torso. Carefully, Peter lifted him.

Caffrey was lighter than he imagined but was still dead weight; it pulled on Peter's fresh bruises and he grimaced. Adjusting his grip, he shifted Caffrey's weight to something manageable. He took a few steps away from the car, and breathed out. This was doable.

Peter started through the forest, heading through the trees and away from the museum. If the cavalry was on its way, the best option would just be to wait them out and put as much distance between himself and the thief as possible. As much as he wanted to catch the sonofabitch, he'd rather _not_ get shot tonight.

And what is it they say? _One in the hand is worth more than two in the bush_.

It took him almost two hours drive to get out here, so he expected Hughes' team to arrive within that time frame, maybe slightly less thanks to the drop in traffic at this time. He briefly thought about Elizabeth and hoped she wouldn't mind another night without him. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten annoyed with having to compete with Caffrey for his time.

 _Well_ , he thought with a strained grin, _that's over with now_.

Twigs snapped under shoes that were certainly not equipped for this type of terrain and the chill of the air was starting to get to him. Peter didn't know how long he was walking, but if the strain on his shoulder and back were any indication, it was long enough.

He didn't know how far he was from the car at this point, but he was too tired to care. The full moon lit most of the surroundings and Peter could make out a slight clearing. He scanned the trees, looking for a place to wait for Hughes. One tree had a low branch that was thick enough it wouldn't break and Peter grinned tiredly at it.

Carefully, he untangled himself from Caffrey—the handcuffs made that fairly difficult—and leaned him against the tree. He un-cuffed himself using the handcuffs keys and reached up for the low branch, hooking the other cuff around it. It clicked shut and Peter tugged; it was secure and the branch wouldn't be breaking anytime soon.

Peter remembered Caffrey's gunshot wound, seeing the darker stain on his shirt. He'd cuffed Caffrey's uninjured wrist-Peter was arresting him, sure, but he wasn't going to hurt him unnecessarily. The branch was about two feet above Caffrey's head, making Caffrey's only attempt at freeing himself reaching up his injured arm, and Peter guessed pain would prevent him from trying.

His eyes catching the dark stain on Caffrey's shirt again, Peter sighed. He knelt down, pulling off his tie and started wrapping it around the bleeding wound tightly. Just as he did, he heard Caffrey groan.

Peter jerked back as Caffrey opened his eyes. The younger man saw Peter's proximity and he jerked back. Still slightly dazed from waking, Caffrey's mask wasn't in place. Peter saw the raw fear flash through his eyes in the moonlight. Caffrey tried to get away from him but was stopped as the handcuffs kept him in place. With another few pulls he looked up and saw the cuffs. He tried to reach his other hand up to undo them but winced after a few inches of movement, hissing; just as Peter presumed, lifting was too painful. Neal's chest heaved as he realized he was trapped.

Watching him panic, Peter felt something akin to guilt sneak up on him.

"Hey, Caffrey," he said, his voice softer than usual, as he suddenly felt like he just kicked a hurt puppy. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you—"

Caffrey gave up, heavily dropping back against the trunk of the tree. His mask was in place now and a glare slipped over his features. A surprising amount of anger that Peter's never seen from him before. "No," Caffrey huffed shortly. "Just lock me up. Big difference," he spat.

Peter's brows shifted, and the authoritative edge slipped back into his voice. "Well—actually there is. I'm trying to help you."

Caffrey coughed a laugh. "Help me? Yeah, right."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I am. A few years in prison should open your eyes to your wrongdoing and—"

"—then I'll be miraculously cured of my sociopathic nature?" finished Caffrey sarcastically. He looked pointedly away, his anger morphing into a teenager's sulking. "Yeah. A few years in a tiny cell is going to do something like _that_."

"That's the system," said Peter, pride underlying his words.

"System's busted," muttered Neal.

"Caffrey," said Peter. "I'm helping you. You just don't know that yet."

Caffrey didn't say anything.

Peter picked himself up and leaned against a nearby tree trunk. His aching muscles thanked him. Silence stretched as Caffrey sulked and Peter tried to feel good about winning.

Even though premature celebrations never turned out well.

He may not have won yet but he was winning.

And even that didn't feel particularly good at the moment.

"Well," said Caffrey, "not to burst your bubble or anything, but," he gave the forest a sarcastic glance, "this doesn't look like prison. And it also doesn't look like the back of your cruiser." When Peter didn't have a response for that, Caffrey pressed on, looking just a little satisfied. "You're in the middle of nowhere with no backup. What's your plan? Wait until some hitchhikers find me stuck here?" He looked around the forest suddenly, like he just remembered something. "Or," he said, looking back at Peter, "wait for our trigger-happy friend to come back and finish me off?"

"Tone it down, Caffrey," said Peter, irritation bubbling at the surface. _Who taught this kid respect_? "I had to haul your ass all the way here, and I think we lost him. But don't you worry. I'll get you to prison if it's the last thing I do."

Caffrey was quiet at that and Peter looked at him, watching him silently eyeing the handcuffs on his good wrist.

"You're smart." said Peter suddenly, softly.

Caffrey's eyes left the handcuffs to look skeptically at Peter. "Patronizing me now?"

"No," said Peter, shaking his head. "I mean… you're a smart kid." And the question he's been sitting on since he started chasing Caffrey in the beginning… "I don't get it; why did you choose to be a criminal? You could so easily get by using legal means. I've seen the moves you make, the talent you have. You could do a hell of a lot of things, and none of them had to resort to being a criminal." He shook his head. "I don't understand."

Caffrey just stared at him, then his eyes travelled back to the cuffs. Peter looked away, assuming he wasn't going to get a response. Until…

"I agree."

Peter looked up.

Then Caffrey turned his head away, finishing firmly, "You don't understand."

Not a moment after that, the silence was shattered with a bullet striking the tree trunk Neal was chained to, inches above his head. Neal couldn't help a yelp in surprise, and Peter scrambled to his feet.

"What the hell?" breathed Peter, whipping around.

"Still think you lost him?" hissed Neal sarcastically.

"Dammit," whispered Peter. He could hear the footsteps pounding toward them now. Another bullet sliced through the air, sailing inches from his ear. He dove to the ground as another nearly missed him.

" _Burke_!"

Peter jerked up, seeing Neal pulling uselessly against the branch he was handcuffed to. He was trying to reach his injured arm up, but pain flared in his face. He caught Peter's eye, and Peter saw the raw fear in the younger man's eyes. "I can't move!" he said desperately. "Get me outta these!" Another spray of bark erupted above Caffrey's head, and he ducked as far as the chain would allow.

Peter swallowed hard, looking back toward the direction of the trigger-happy thief. The footsteps were still a ways away; he had a handful of seconds before he was on them.

Peter picked himself up, heart beating hard against his ribs. "Hang on!" he said, running back toward where Caffrey was still trying to free himself. Peter jammed his hand in his pocket, finding the handcuff keys again. With shaking hands, he jammed the key into the lock on the cuff around the tree, and it opened. At the same moment, Caffrey shot up off the ground to run, but Peter quickly closed the free cuff around his own wrist, making Caffrey stop short and yank them both forward into the dirt.

" _Seriously_?!" demanded Caffrey from the ground, pulling at the chain connecting his wrist to Peter's. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Just get up and run!" said Peter, and they both picked themselves up and ran, a bullet embedding in the trunk where Neal had been sitting only a handful of seconds earlier.

Peter led them, running as fast as he could, straight ahead, only for Neal to jerk them to the left, and Peter tripped over his feet, barely catching himself from falling.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as Neal led them in a new direction.

"Don't run in a straight line," replied Neal, as if it were obvious. "Too easy to follow." Peter felt a blinding urge to jerk Neal back in his own direction just to make a point that _he was not taking orders from the kid_ but it did make a bit of sense.

"Wait," said Peter, after Neal led them through a new direction, a twig snapping back in Peter's face. "Why are we running? Let's just give him the jewel!"

Neal gave him an are-you-crazy? look.

Peter scoffed, then ducked, barely avoiding hitting a thick branch in his way. "Yeah, I know. Giving a criminal what he wants. Very unlike me. But I've seen him; I can get a sketch artist to give us an ID on the guy and I'll find the damn jewel another day. Not that I like criminals getting their way—" Peter threw a glare as Neal jerked him hard in a new direction. "—but I don't see another option when this guy is hellbent on _killing_ us!" To make his point, Peter stopped, making Neal stumble to his own stop.

"What are you _doing_?" snapped Neal, eyes ablaze with something, some mix of emotions that was foreign to Peter.

"Let's go give up the thing and I'll take care of it later!" snapped Peter, not exactly admitting that _he already has the criminal he really wanted to catch_.

Neal jerked him to keep going but Peter didn't budge. Neal huffed out a breath. "Look," he said firmly, and Peter almost shrunk against the tone. "Didn't you hear what you just said? You've seen the guy; you know what he looks like, what he sounds like." He let the words sink in a bit. "You do know what that means, right? People like him will kill _anyone in their way_. They're invisible because they kill everyone who sees them!" He jerked his chin back toward the museum. "Why don't you think there were any guards in that place while you were dragging me around the building?"

Peter hesitated; he hadn't thought of that. "I—"

"I've memorized their schedule, and I gave myself a ten-minute window," said Neal quietly. "We were there a lot longer than ten minutes."

Peter let the pieces click into place. "So…"

"He killed them," finished Neal. The words sunk down deeper in Peter's chest. Well, there goes that plan. "Now, come on," said Neal in that same firm voice, and he jerked hard against the handcuff chain. "We can't stay in one place too long."

Against his own stubbornness at the fact that Caffrey was trying to tell him what to do, Peter relented and they picked up their pace, just as another bullet sliced over Peter's shoulder. "Shit!" he breathed, jerking violently into Neal, and they both barely caught themselves from falling a second time.

"See?" said Neal in an irritatingly sarcastic voice.

Neal pulled Peter after him, running fast, and Peter had to struggle to keep up. _Damn the kid was fast_. Peter let him lead the way with reluctance; his head was busy trying to find a way out of this. But the fear of his vulnerability was making it damn hard to concentrate.

"Stop breathing so loud," hissed Neal.

Peter snapped his head to the conman; his chest burned and he was exhausted. "What?"

Neal glared at him. "He's done this before and if they hear you breathing they catch you. Control it."

Peter bit down a few choice words at being told what to do but, again, the conman made a frustrating amount of sense. His heart was beating in his head and blood rushed in his ears, and he didn't know whether that was the paranoia that a bullet would strike him in the back at any moment or Elizabeth's proof that he wasn't as in-shape as he could be.

Peter didn't know how long they were running by the time he felt light-headed. Caffrey hadn't broken his pace, and to Peter's annoyance, the kid's breathing was virtually inaudible. But Peter had hit his limit, and he slowed, too exhausted to try to keep pace anymore.

Caffrey felt him slow, which dragged the conman back with him. He jerked around. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I need a break!" said Peter, incredibly out of breath.

"There are no breaks," huffed Neal, still running, now dragging Peter behind him, chafing Peter's wrist.

Peter yanked him back again, hard. "I'm not kidding, Caffrey," he breathed. "Either we take a break or I pass out and you carry me!"

Neal was deathly quiet for a moment, then said. "Fine. Let me find a place."

Breathing out in relief at the notion of stopping, Peter let Caffrey continue to lead the way-at this point he was too tired to think straight anyway-until he heard Caffrey said, "Here. Two minutes."

Peter slumped to the ground, his back hitting the trunk of a tree. His entire body was vibrating with rushing blood and adrenaline and soreness and exhaustion. He shut his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He kept pressure on the handcuff chain, pulling his wrist toward himself as he felt Caffrey try to reach his one hand toward his other to free himself, followed by a huff of irritated disappointment in the failed attempt. Peter blinked his eyes back open to see Caffrey still standing, scanning the forest with a predator-like gaze.

"No bullets in a while," said Peter. "I think we lost him."

"You never lose them," whispered Caffrey, almost to himself.

"I think I need more than two minutes," said Peter, his chest still on fire and his throat sandpaper. He closed his eyes again.

"Not much fun being on this side of the chase, huh?"

Peter's eyes opened. Caffrey was looking at him, and Peter met his gaze. Suddenly, Peter knew what that foreign look in Neal's eyes was from before. It was a strong mixture of fear, desperation and determination. It was a kind of strength in his eyes that Peter hasn't seen in anyone before. Especially not something he expected to see from the savvy, overconfident _Neal Caffrey_. Peter blinked, feeling his chest burn and fear running like fire through his veins. Feeling paranoia prickle behind his neck, and down his spine.

 _Is this how Caffrey feels all the time_?

Choosing not to respond to Caffrey's comment, Peter let out a breath, feeling like the fire was beginning to calm in his lungs. "Look, he'll give up at some point. He can't chase us forever."

"Yeah. At one point, that's what I thought about you."

Peter shot him a glare. "Hey. Don't act like I'm just chasing you for the hell of it. You deserve to be chased, Caffrey. _You_ asked for it. _You_ made the choice to break the law."

Caffrey's face twisted. "Oh, yeah? And what about all the dirty politicians and CEOs who get away with murder, most of the time _literally_? Just because I made some fake bonds—"

Peter's brows shot up. "You what?"

Caffrey froze, realizing his mistake. "— _allegedly_ made some fake bonds," he corrected, "that makes me the worse guy?"

"Me chasing you has nothing to do with that. A crime is a crime, Caffrey," said Peter firmly. "And a criminal is a criminal, no matter how you look at it."

Caffrey looked at him, his mask hiding the rush of emotions behind his eyes. "Well," said Caffrey darkly, "with that logic, all gun-wielding maniacs hellbent on catching someone are all the same too." His glare deepened. "No matter how you look at it."

Somewhere in the distance, a twig snapped under a footstep. Caffrey and Peter both jerked in the direction of it, then shared a look.

"Seriously?" breathed Peter, mostly to himself. He was still exhausted. He pushed himself painfully to his feet.

Caffrey cocked his head as he watched, and Peter could have sworn he looked amused with Peter's discomfort. Caffrey turned to lead them back into a run, with words that sent a chill down Peter's spine.

"Welcome to this side of the chase, Agent Burke."

* * *

 _a/n: I promise I won't make you wait too long this time. :) thanks for reading!_


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